


i'd kill for an adventure

by badass_normal



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-31
Updated: 2010-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badass_normal/pseuds/badass_normal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History has a way of repeating itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd kill for an adventure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cloudytea](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cloudytea).



Flight 42 crashes when Emma is eighteen. There are twenty-two survivors.

She becomes the twenty-third, weaving herself seamless into their numbers fifteen minutes after the crash.

_Once upon a time Oceanic 815 crashed and Emma was the twenty-third survivor, brought back from the dead by a woman whose face has long faded from memory._

_Once upon a time Goodwin Stanhope was a mole and Emma remembers nothing but the name._

\--

It takes her three days to make a List.

The fourth day, Walt Lloyd tells her he's been there before.

The sixth day her people drag eleven into the jungle.

She stays.

\--

"They try to brainwash you," he explains. "I was ten."

Emma knows the latter. She's not sure about the brainwashing. There was a room, all those years ago. There was room and it flickers on the edge of her recollection, elusive and wavering.

"That sounds awful." She gazes into his eyes and sees her reflection.

The lies squirm under her skin. Self-preservation fuels them, and she cries herself to sleep in the night and harbors delusions that this can end well.

\--

"I didn't really grow up with a lot of people my age," she explains, running her mouth. "And, and now there's you."

He presses his lips against hers, parts them with his tongue. She gasps against his mouth. He tilts her head back and grasps the nape of her neck and her head spins deliriously. Something in her floats, her stomach fluttering with his kiss.

It's her first and there is no going back.

She trembles in the face of the truth.

\--

Everyone knows, so they share a blanket at night.

She wakes up to his fingers tracing the curve of her waist and something pulses between her legs at the contact. Something foreign and frightening.

That night he takes her into the jungle and he holds her and they fall to the ground.

He looks like he's glaring at her the whole time. He glares down and faces her and something explodes inside of her, something fierce and overwhelming and she cries out into the silence. He joins her, burying his face in her neck and gripping her like she's all he has. She likes that thought, because he's everything to her, all she's ever wanted.

He doesn't know her at all.

\--

"Come home."

Cindy is stern and Emma for once does not care.

"Not until Hugo and Ben change their minds about Walt."

"If he finds out..."

"I love him," she whispers.

A frown creases Cindy's eyebrows, and then there are tears.

The women embrace. "I guess you're not a little girl anymore." Cindy kisses her forehead. "Please, be safe."

She thinks of the leadership struggles, the mistrust, the betrayals back on the beach. She thinks of impending disaster and Flight, well, she doesn't remember. Oceanic something. Years ago.

\--

Her people take six more.

She feels Walt's eyes on the back of her neck.

Denial hangs between them like a fog, like a cloud of black smoke long dead but still fatal.

\--

"What was your flight number?"

"Excuse me?" his eyes narrowing.

"When you crashed. When you were ten."

He doesn't look at her, and there is dread, tangible and disgusting.

"815." He is slicing an onion with a knife. His voice is quiet when he speaks again. "I've been trying to place you for forty-eight days."

Her heart stops. There are no more lies left to tell.

"Eight years ago. You were there. With the Others." He looks up at her and the rage is soft and terrifying. Terrifying. "Room twenty-three."

She doesn't say anything.

"What do you do with them? The people you take?"

"We, we make them ours." It's something true, and the fist around her lungs loosens.

He looks at her blankly. And then he lunges forward and suddenly the knife is in her stomach and death is clouding her eyes as love and heartbreak and life pour bloody from her abdomen. It's all mirrored on his face and she manages a few sobs as he cups her face and kisses her forehead.

\--

Walt vomits into the creek and kneels in it and lets the tears come.

The knife remains in his hand, his thumb in her blood. The knife remains in his hand and he fantasizes about escaping and undoing.

Walt stumbles back into camp where four survivors look up at the blood on his hands.

"We're safe here now."


End file.
